I Know Why the Caged Bird is Dead.

The caged bird's dead, it wouldn't shut up-
So we drowned it in a cracked teacup.

Grave of dreams, nightmare screams,
Is this happening to me?
After locked up in his cage it ain't as easy as it seems.

He was first blindfolded with "fearful thrill",
So that in the end he'd be easier to kill.

His wings were clipped, his feet were tied.
In the sand, his remains were quite easy to hide.

He once opened up his mouth to sing (ring a ling)
So we slit open his throat with a strand of string.

Decapitated, emancipated, unappreciated-
Think we all know his death was way outdated.

I'm glad he's dead- he's so lame, got no game,
Fun to maim, still the same endgame-
You just came.. Home.

Requiem to Life

What happens to a soul in torment?

Does it fester like Iago, bleeding for revenge?

Or give up like an embittered soul with nothing more to live for?

And then release its dearest dreams to the wind?

Does it rage like an Inferno, roaring through the nine circles of Hell?

Or reject its sins- like an innocent soul, thrown to the temperament of fate?

Maybe it just abandons all hope like one who drowns its soul in the Archeron.

Or does it reach Nirvana through its pain?

A Character Analysis of Sophocle’s Antigone

We’ve all felt alone and worthless. When life beats us down, we want nothing more than a voice: we want to be heard, we want love, and we want attention. But sometimes, we don’t get that. And we wonder- is life really worth living? Sophocle’s Antigone was no different. She was just an unloved girl who wanted a chance.

            Antigone’s self-pity seemed to imply that she was already dreaming of suicide- all she really needed was a reason. Why so sad? She had been scorned and ridiculed for “the most painful of (her) cares, the thrice-repeated doom of (her) father” (865). After the highly publicized downfall of Jocasta and Oedipus, she and her siblings were the only bearers of the humiliating scorn of the people of Thebes. Shortly thereafter, her brothers died and left Antigone “unwept [and] friendless” (881). Even worse, Creon’s order to leave Polynices unburied painted another embarrassing streak of shame for Antigone to shoulder. As her family and her honor crashed down around her, Antigone was convinced that she has “seen nothing- nothing mad or shameful or dishonorable- that (was) not among.. (her) sorrows.”  (5) The only logical exit? Suicide. After all, “anyone who lives a life of sorrow as (she does), how could they not count it a blessing to die?” She only needed a noble cause to martyr to. And conveniently, a cause was found- “Could (her) fame be more gloriously established than by placing (her) brother in a tomb?” (518) Antigone fantasized over the glory that she could leave behind. Though no friend would groan over her "unwept fate” (886), her father’s incest hung over her head like a tarnished cloud, and her brother’s shame stained her reputation, she believed that setting things right with the gods would at least leave a small hint of honor.

            Her sense of upholding the family name and religion drove her to a fanatical obsession over Polynice’s burial. As she “(heaped) a tomb for (her) dearest brother” (81) to avoid “(being) found a traitor” (47), the text implies that she’s adamant the gods are on her side. She openly defied Creon by stating that she “(didn’t) intend to pay the penalty to the gods for violating these laws in fear of some man’s opinion.” (468) She threatened her sister with the vengeance of the dead: “you will be hateful to me, and the dead will hate you always.” (93) Creon started to notice her insanity; he saw “her insides in fury, not like someone in full control of her senses.” (506) But she apparently was oblivious to these comments; she“(pleased) those (she) should please most” (89), and “death and the dead will witness who did the deed” (558). Her obsession with death made her believe that “(her) soul has been dead” (75), and she jumped at the chance to “be the bride of death". (823)

            Despite her eagerness to end her life, she refused to go without fighting for a cause she was passionate about. She claimed she “shall succumb to nothing so awful as a shameful death.” (96) By being unshamed, it is assumed that she wanted to widely proclaim her martyrdom by “(showing) how nobly (she) honors her noble birth.” (38) She “groaned loudly” (435) as she buried Polynices, and afterwards “stood in denial of nothing.” (443). Perhaps she believed that after death, she would be honored for her resolute bravery and defiance. She convinced herself that her iron will was much more important than a fulfilled life. It is obvious that she was “the fierce daughter of a fierce father, she doesn’t know to bend with the wind.” (485). Antigone was an incredibly static character, never ridding herself of the “violent winds (that) still rage in her soul.” (937). How ironic that in the face of death, her actions showed that she was living the most. Her courageous and headstrong personality shined the clearest through her depression and desperation.

            In a way, it can be said that the play Antigone had a happy ending. Antigone had spent her life waiting, plotting, hoping for death, and her very last words were peaceful ones- “I am led away indeed, no longer merely waiting.” (947). Though her tragic hopelessness led to her grave, her death showed immense strength, religious conviction, and family pride. She fought for her death the way others fought for life, and through her battle, she found her voice.

On the Epiphany of My Mediocrity- And Why I’m Feeling Left Out

Asian mothers are ferociously strict. Thanks to the internet, a website solely dedicated to hatching plots for maximum torture (er.. that is, success) in raising children now exists. It’s the constantly updated, Asian-mother version of the Bible.

My mother, like a myriad of other Chinawomen, constantly sends me links to this website. These links include pages like “12 Year Old Wang Hu Makes a 36 On His ACT” or “My Kid Just Got A Full Scholarship to Harvard- And All He Did Was Get A Perfect SAT Score and Perform At Carnegie Hall!”

When I got yet another dreaded link, I ignored it- as usual. However, when my mother remarked, “Aren’t you lucky I let you use the bathroom?” I figured an article that mentioned fantastic contraptions like toilets was worth my time.

…The article changed everything. Suddenly, I understood why I was "never allowed to be in a school play" (Chua, par. 1), why my test scores were so inadequate, and most importantly, why I lacked the ability to do a push-up.

On Facebook, I saw that my Asian friends from the national chess championship had also received the article from their mothers. (See? It’s a conspiracy.) I’m not the only one with mantras like “Doing your best is not fun- Winning is fun” and “Everyone else has brilliant children- Why am I stuck with you?” drilled into my head since birth. And it made me realize that negativity is the best thing for children. Who really cares if you’re trying your best if you suck?

I now feel like my parents are overly nice. What were they thinking, letting me participate in a sixth-grade production of “The Best Christmas Pageant Ever”? There are kids out there doing logarithms and programming calculators, and I’m here checking my Twitter.

I’m making up for lost time by taping “YOU SUCK” posters on my wall. The clock’s ticking, and when the genius Asian generation takes over the world, chances are I’m not going to make the cut.

Works Cited

Chua, Amy. "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior." Wall Street Journal 08 Jan 2011: n.p. Web. 17 Feb 2011.

The Black Swan.

“I had the craziest dream last night about a girl who turned into a swan.. And she kills herself.” We’ve all experienced paranoia of failure, a fear of mediocrity. This intensity is never as strongly interpreted as in the Black Swan- a movie portraying Natalie Portman as Nina, a ballerina driven to insanity by her struggle for passion.

Nina has landed the star role for a performance of Swan Lake. Her innocence and precision makes her the ideal candidate for Odette, but she is incapable of portraying the seductive nature of the Black Swan. Nina is pressured even more into her role by the arrival of her understudy Lily- who has every bit the talent, and twice the sensuality. As the movie progresses, we begin to wonder if Lily even exists. Is she just the desperate figment of Nina’s imagination?

            Nina is the ultimate victim of her obsession towards perfectionism. Her only successful attempt at passion arrives in the form of self-mutilation. Her thoughts get darker and darker, and Tchaikovsky’s twisted suite leads to a horrifying, traumatizing end.

This movie, in my opinion, is a fantastic study of the human psyche and the terrors that can lead us to revel in pain. Nina is the epitome of a struggling, pressured woman, one that we can all relate to- or recoil from. Director Darren Aronofsky creates a perfect blend of fragile tutus and shattered glass in this Oscar-worthy classic.

Despite controversial reviews and hesitant ratings, this holiday movie is a must. The intensity and drama of this fantasy turned thriller will have you on the edge of your seat- frightened, disturbed, and intrigued. Is there a more formidable craving than lunacy by pirouette?

Asphyxia.

A frightening omen is spreading furiously across the sky. It is a black storm cloud, warning all to take shelter before it unleashes its fury. Thunderclaps emphasize the magnitude of its rampage.

Below, a churning ocean is gathering momentum. It slashes furiously at the wicked boulders confining its outrage. No living being witnesses this except a solitary figure pacing calmly about the abandoned, rocky shore. This figure is Andromeda, swathed in a long, startling blue gown that not only matches her eyes, but matches the tempest.

The dark, mysterious depths of the ocean have always captivated Andromeda. The lulls and crests seem to beckon for her to join them. In her desolation, she often spans this coastline, seeking nothing but the companionship of the waves. The isolated stretch of beach is her haven; no one ever interrupts her, because no one cares to notice she is gone.

A seagull shrieks in the distance. Andromeda empathizes with its lonely, piercing cry. She understands how it feels to go unheard, to go through each day as a shadow. All shadows eventually fade away, she notices. With this in mind, Andromeda continues her peaceful stroll, hardly noticing the sharp rocks piercing the tender soles of her feet.

She resumes her suicidal contemplation. In her solitary state, no one will notice if she drifts away. Being carried away by the storm, she romanticizes, would be an intriguing way to go. And afterwards? So many people have their convictions about the elusive Afterlife. But Andromeda quickly dismisses this pondering- she has no interest in fantasizing about the extension of life, nor does she care. She only finds exhilaration at knowing that she'll escape this existence she so loathes.

She understands that death is inevitable, yet feels nothing but anticipation for her eventual end. Why? There is nothing worth living for. She is rotting away on the inside: suppressing her constant frustrations, drowning her outraged thoughts, tearing apart her magnitude of memories.

The bitter truth is that poor Andromeda is suffocating. She cannot live with herself. She cannot stand the amplitude of pressure she inflicts, her fear of failure, her fight against the inevitable tide. Disgust, repulsion, she cannot stand her willing contamination of so much purity and hope. At this, she tosses stones bitterly into the water, watching them ripple across the surface like tears splashing across her face.

In all, she is a vessel of broken dreams; a missile that has shot itself so high, only to result in a much farther fall. A dark mentality has ensnared her with hooks of ambition, leaving her to never be satisfied with the person she is.

The storm is getting nearer now. Streaks of brilliant light adorn the fuming sky. Waves are crashing even more desperately. Andromeda feels terrified, yet submits herself to nature's wrath. The ocean, she feels, is so much like her: turbulent, restless, vengeful.

The mighty crescendo of anticipation reaches a climax. Rain rages down towards the ground, thunderstorms dance in the heavens, lightning gleefully blinds awestruck eyes. The storm is here. The time has come.

And so she simply walks into the water. The waves are fighting against her, warning her to turn back. The cold current attempts to push her back to land, back to safety, but the exhilaration of this final crusade is overwhelming. Her back arches, her hands glide through the tranquil water. For a second, she is still, reveling in her last breadths of salty mist. Inhale, exhale.

Waves are lapping around her more furiously now. White foam caps the endless valleys of turquoise about her. The sky is as deep a grey as the resolute boulders framing the blue expanse. This is the only thing she will miss.

She ventures deeper into the current. Suddenly, her feet cannot reach the rocky shore. A vivid image of Anticleia flashes through her mind; Anticleia, who gave herself to the ocean in despair over the loss of her brave son. In a way, she and Anticleia are alike. They are giving up, resigning their fates in a cruel, heartless world. But this comparison is cut short as she sinks down into the water.

Her first instinct is one of trepidation. Tendrils of black hair are wrapping around her face, sliding around her throat, enveloping her existence in a veil of darkness. Her arms flail about, desperately clawing at the snares. Salt stings her eyes until nothing is seen except a mirage of dark blue. And the water! It is everywhere, driving her in every direction. Her body begs her to kick up, to obtain an infinitesimal fraction precious air. But her mind fights. Why does she want oxygen? She is dining on the nectar of failure, the ambrosia of isolation. The currents are pushing her deeper into the water; surely no one will ever find her corpse.

Her last thought is of a perfect day; sitting on the edge of a cliff, watching a sunset. A day when she was truly happy. In a way, she is watching another sunset. She is watching herself fall.

She chokes. Water is rushing into her mouth. Filling her lungs. Overcoming her senses. Yet she revels in this panic, and breathes the salty poison in. Unconsciousness begins its rapid infiltration of her senses. And then, blackness. Oblivion.

The storm dies down. Waves lazily swell back towards the shore, and patches of blue sky begin to emerge from the grey. A seagull cries, but this time, nothing hears it. Where is the seagull going? He is swooping down towards the beach, for a single, ruined blue slipper has washed in with the tide.

Compare/Contrast

    Folklore has been an essential tool in understanding diverse cultures for many generations. The Canadian La Corriveau, Hold ‘Em Tabb from the Wild West, and the Hawaiian Pele’s Revenge are three excellent examples of completely different folklore in society.

           Despite changes in culture, all three stories have been used to entertain, to frighten, to excite. La Corriveau is the story of a heartless woman who haunts innocent men, even in death. Marie Corriveau had become tired of her husband, and consequently murdered him, leading to her own execution. After her death, villagers started avoiding the road in which her corpse resided. However, one innocent traveler, Dube, decided to venture along this path one evening- much to his disadvantage. The ghost of La Corriveau attempts to murder poor Dube, but he manages to hold her off. The story is resolved when the holy Cure performs exorcises the spirit. Pele’s Revenge is much more mellow and melancholy. The tale starts with two lovers- Ohi’a and Lehua, who fall in love and get married. However, their bliss does not last long, as Ohi’a catches the eye of the goddess Pele. In her intense spite and jealousy, Pele turns Ohi’a into a tree. Lehua cries for her beloved back, and the Gods grant her wish by turning her into a flower on the tree. In the western folklore Hold ‘Em, Tabb, a dazzling mixture of silliness and mystery blend nicely to resolve in a wacky ending. Tabb decides to spend the night in a haunted house, while his friend chickens out and sleeps outside. Halfway through the night, a ghost suddenly appears and attacks Tabb! After an intense battle, Tabb and the ghost disappear, never to be seen again.

           As you can tell, these amusing pieces of fiction all have many things in common. For one, all of these stories are told in the North American region. Also, all three pieces feature male victims. Dube is attacked, Ohi’a is turned into a tree, and Tabb disappears. All unfortunate ends to practically defenseless characters. These three tales also feature supernatural beings; the ghost of Marie Corriveau, the goddess Pele, the random spirit. Hold ‘Em, Tabb! and La Corriveau both feature violent scenes of attack. Also, it appears the motive for said attacks are nonexistent- the victim just seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. La Corriveau and Pele’s Revenge are both are related to love- or lack thereof. The antagonist in both stories is a woman. On a literary note, La Corriveau and Pele’s Revenge are both written in third person. However, Hold ‘Em, Tabb! is written from the standpoint of Tabb’s friend.

           Despite the stunning amount of similarities, unique features set these stories apart. The conflict is not resolved in Hold ‘Em, Tabb!, and the purpose of the story is mainly to entertain, whereas La Corriveau was created to frighten, and Pele’s Revenge was told to explain the creation of the Ohi’a tree. Various themes, such as jealousy, death, play out in Pele’s Revenge and La Corriveau, respectively.

           It is fascinating to read different folk legends. Not only will they provide endless hours of entertainment, but a wide expanse of knowledge on different cultures is retained. After reading a few legends, you'll learn to relate and acknowledge similarities and differences; it's quite interesting to notice how despite a variety of geological locations, many stories in essence sound the same. La Corriveau, Pele’s Revenge, and Hold ‘Em, Tabb! are only a few of the diverse folk legends that are out there, but I would heartily recommend any three of these short stories to anyone who is literate, including you!